


Today on the menu...

by duesternis



Series: Shoot me down and lift me up [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Crime syndicate Au, Guns, M/M, Not Overwatch AU, Spanish Speaking McCree, Yakuza, grimy diners, inaccurate portraying of yakuza, shitty family meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 07:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7630672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duesternis/pseuds/duesternis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>... yakuza-clans greeting their young lords and guests.</p><p>Also waffles and spider's silk.</p><p> </p><p>______<br/>Part four of a series of Crime-syndicate AU ficlets. There will be a continuity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Today on the menu...

**Author's Note:**

> drama starts.
> 
> this thing is getting out of hand, btw. I (again) blame @waldwasser for all of this.

New York looked very different from the seat of a motorcycle.  
Bigger, louder, fuller. Somehow richer.  
And the traffic was not as taxing, too. Which was probably half McCree‘s work.  
But they swerved and ducked through thick rows of honking cars, soft snowflakes turning grey on the streets.  
McCree stopped at a traffic light and put his right foot on the tarmac, to keep them upright.  
„Gosh, ain‘t ya half frozen, too? An‘ starved?“  
Hanzo chuckled softly and nodded against McCree‘s broad shoulder. „I would not mind stopping for a moment.“  
„Then let‘s find some place with free refills an‘ pie on the menu.“ McCree let the engine howl as they started again. Heads turned and a rich laugh bellowed out of the man.

Hanzo appreciated that they were driving slower now, scanning the street left and right for some place where they could park and then find something to eat.  
Because even though McCree had driven far more responsible this time, the winter winds still had sharp teeths and Hanzo never had warm feet to begin with.  
„Oh, how ‘bout that‘n there?“ McCree pointed at a greasy window front and was already stopping.  
„No.“  
„Awww, c‘mon. I bet they have t‘ best coffee on the street.“ McCree laughed and pulled the keys out of the ignition. „Now, off ya go.“  
Hanzo sighed. „I will not have anything there.“ He got off the bike and ignored McCree‘s laughter-tinged „We‘ll see, darlin‘.“  
Rather he already weaved through the bustling street and waited for the other man by the door. McCree was tall and the bobble of his hat stuck out of the crowd like a sore thumb.  
Hanzo allowed himself a private smile. McCree smiled back at him over the heads of a group of high-school-pupils. All teeth and warm eyes.  
Something fluttered in his throat and he didn‘t swallow it down immediately.

„Howdy.“  
„Greetings.“ It was ridiculous.  
McCree opened the door for him and the smell of strong coffee and spicy food was almost too much.  
Hanzo suddenly had McCree directly behind him, the broad chest leaning against his back, because Hanzo hadn‘t crossed the threshold fast enough.  
„Now, tiger.“ A teasing lilt to the warm voice and Hanzo scoffed, before walking inside the diner. The flush on his cheeks was due to cold, he told himself as he pulled his beanie off and shook his hair out in the steamy heat.  
A waiter with a red apron smiled at them and Hanzo nodded while he unwrapped his scarf from his throat. The cloak was in the way but he didn‘t want to take it off.  
The smell of sun still clung to it.  
„Hello, welcome in the „Red Rest“! Enjoy your stay.“

„Gracias.“ McCree pocketed his own hat and walked past Hanzo to take a seat in one of the booths. The red faux leather creaked under their weight and Hanzo was reminded of the bar stool he had taken a seat on, in a gloomy conference room.  
It seemed like half a lifetime away, when it hadn‘t even been a week. Hanzo rubbed his hands together under the thick wool of the cloak and gently peeled his gloves off.  
His hands were still more sensitive than normal.  
McCree was already flipping through the menu, whistling along to the song playing softly in the background. His whistling had a reedy quality that reminded Hanzo of flutes from his childhood.  
Slowly he reached for the menu and scanned the long list of meals and beverages. He had no idea what half of them were and his English was very good.  
A sliver of confusion and frustration must have slipped through his controls, because all of a sudden McCree was laughing and resting his ankles against Hanzo‘s.  
„Now, darlin‘, what‘s it? Can‘t decide whatcha wanna eat?“ The man had the insolence to wipe a tear from his eye. His mouth was wide with laughter and Hanzo didn‘t know what to do.  
So he kicked McCree in the ankle and grinned sharply when the laughter fell into a pained hiss.  
„There is nothing here that will fit to my taste.“ Hanzo dropped the menu on the table and busied himself with looking out of the window as the waiter approached.  
McCree talked to him in Spanish.  
The waiter responded in kind and Hanzo looked at them out of the corner of his eye. He had no idea how McCree could have been sure, that the waiter spoke Spanish too.  
After what seemed like a far too long time to order food and drink for one the waiter left them alone again.

McCree leaned back against the bench and unzipped his jacket. Took it off after another breath and shoved the sleeves of his sweater up over his forearms.  
The hair on the right one was dark and mussed.  
Hanzo looked out of the window again. McCree rested his chin in his left hand and joined him in watching the people outside.  
„I‘ve never been t‘ New York.“  
Hanzo looked at him.  
„‘S Yankee-land. Can‘t jus‘ waltz into Yankee-land. Ain‘t right, darlin‘.“  
„Are these not the United States of America?“  
„Yeah, sure. What else?“  
„United implies, that there are no clefts between parts and factions.“ Hanzo brushed his hair behind his ear and heard McCree swallow.  
His voice was rough around the next sentence. „Yeah, but some civil rivalry never hurt no one, so...“ McCree shrugged and ran a hand over his scruffy beard. The shape it was supposed to have had disintegrated over the last few days.  
„You?“ A cough.  
„I live here.“ Hanzo frowned softly and followed the bobbing head of a child with his eyes. The mother was chasing after the head.  
„Yeah, sure. But you ain‘t bred here?“ McCree licked his dry lips and rested his ankles along Hanzo‘s again.  
„I was born in Japan, the family manor.“ Maybe not the right word for it, but he knew no other.  
„Big place, huh?“  
„Old family.“

The waiter came back with a laden tablet. He set down a stack of waffles and a plate with pie in front of McCree, accompanied by a steaming mug of coffee.  
Hanzo got a plate with waffles and eggs, of all things. And tea.  
„I did not want anything.“  
McCree laughed over the confused and scared look on the waiter‘s face. „Nah, ya‘ll love it. Dig on in!“  
McCree reached for a bottle of some kind of syrup on the table and poured an unhealthy amount of it over his waffles. Took a slurp of coffe and licked froth out of his moustache. Then he started eating.  
Hanzo gingerly took a sip from his tea and tried not to touch the sticky tabletop with his arms.  
„I didn‘t think ya would be a sweet tooth, so I went with some regular stuff for ya. Ya should try the hot sauce with it.“ McCree talked around a bite of waffles, lips sticky and glossy with syrup.  
Hanzo simply nodded and let his hair fan over his shoulders. Then he lifted his cutlery and cut into the waffle. It was soft and spongy, and the insides were warm.  
„Does this have cheese?“ Hanzo looked at the long ribbon of cheese connecting the bite on his fork with the rest of his waffle. He was intrigued.  
„Yep! They‘re real good, but nothin‘ like‘em sweet ones with syrup.“ McCree licked a bit of said syrup from the corner of his mouth and Hanzo found himself staring at the tip of his tongue.  
He closed his lips around the fork and chewed. It was warm, savory and very tasty.  
„Try‘em with egg, darlin‘.“ A slurp of coffee and another bite of waffle. The stack was diminishing quickly.  
Hanzo did as requested and yes. It was very good.  
For a moment they were both silent, simply eating, enjoying the feeling of warm food in their cold bellies.

McCree finished his plate of waffles and then wolfed down his pie. Got a refill for his coffee and finally leaned back against the bench. His long legs slipped between Hanzo‘s ankles.  
Hanzo finished his meal at a more regular pace and then wrapped his hands around his mug of tea. The steam was a blessing on his cold cheeks.  
„Still cold, sweetheart?“ McCree‘s voice was low; private in a way, Hanzo wanted to associate with the dim lighting of McCree‘s retreat in Santa Fe. It made his shoulders relax unbidden.  
„It is fine. The cloak is very warm after all.“  
A chuckle. „Serape.“  
Hanzo looked at McCree with half a mocking smile curled around his lips. McCree rolled his eyes and chuckled under his breath.

The door of the diner opened with a jingle and the waiter was quick to greet the new guests. A family of four, a girl of maybe eight and a younger brother, the parents. All bundled up in coats and hats.  
They chose a booth right by McCree‘s and Hanzo‘s. Discussed the food in loud voices.  
McCree sighed and pulled his cigarillos from his pocket. Fiddled with one and the lighter simultaneously.  
The zip-zip-zip of the flickering flame was calming.  
The younger brother, maybe four, kept staring at the flame. McCree grinned at the boy and let the flame lick the heel of his right hand. A gasp of awe and Hanzo hid his smile in his tea.  
„Mommy, look!“ The boy tugged at his mother‘s sleeve and she turned to look at the two of them.  
Hanzo felt his spine go rigid. He looked out of the window, shoulder turned to the family. Maybe she hadn‘t recognized him with his hair down and the cloak around his shoulders.  
Hopefully.  
With a soft voice she reprimanded her son for bothering the other costumers and McCree rumbled a warm „‘S all fine, Ma‘am. I started it“ at her. His lips were shiny from sugar.  
Hanzo nudged him under the table and kept looking out of the window. A man in a huge duck-costume was trying to get people to come into a store across the street.  
McCree chatted a bit with the mother and Hanzo really wanted to go now.  
„Jesse.“ It was whispered into his last dregs of tea and the conversation came to a natural conclusion as the waiter came to take the orders of the family.  
McCree asked him for the check in Spanish. Or at least Hanzo hoped it was what he did.  
He couldn‘t hide behind his mug any longer. So he slowly pulled his beanie over his hair and fiddled with his gloves.  
McCree settled the check when it came and was the first to stand. Hanzo rose in his back, nearly completely covered by the large frame.  
Together they left the diner.  
Outside McCree lit the cigarillo he had turned over and over in his hand.  
„What was that about?“  
„She works for us and I would like to arrive at home without foot soldiers knowing of it too early.“ Hanzo pulled his gloves on.  
„Huh.“ McCree leaned his head back and blew his smoke at the grey sky. It had started to snow earnestly during their meal. „Then let‘s, before ya get regocnized.“ A cheeky grin and a slap on his shoulder and McCree walked past him.  
A whiff of vanilla and cedar hung in the air and Hanzo inhaled deeply.

 

Jesse rounded the hundreth corner and Shimada‘s arms tightened around his waist. Just a tiny bit.  
„Much farther? Gettin‘ tired ‘ere.“ He yawned for emphasis and Hanzo pointed at the next corner.  
„A left here and then the next right.“  
„Great. Is this like in a game, where ya have t' jus‘ keep walkin' a weird maze-like way or otherwise ya can‘t reach the base?“ He chuckled and Shimada exhaled against his neck.  
A pleasant shiver down his spine and Jesse swallowed.  
„No.“ A pause and Jesse took them through the instructions. Someone honked at him and he gave them the finger.  
„We might be followed. I am not sure yet.“  
Shimada shifted behind him and Jesse knew by the hand on his thigh that he was looking over his shoulder.  
„Left or right?“  
„Straight ahead.“ Shimada was still looking behind them and Jesse whistled through his teeth. At least it wasn‘t that windy in New York.  
„Red light ahead.“  
„Run it.“  
„Good.“ Jesse shifted gears, swerved between two cars and ran the red light with a whoop of laughter. A glorious choir of honks and shouts came in his wake, the roar of the engine nearly overtook them all.  
They sped down two or three streets, then a soft touch from Shimada made Jesse slow down again.  
„Take the tunnel, not the bridge.“  
„‘Kay. Still tailin‘ us?“  
„We may have lost them, but we will see.“ Shimada rested his cheek against Jesse‘s shoulder again and he whistled a spanish song he knew by heart.  
The tunnel was a shift of light and dark and warm air in their faces. They both squinted out in the sun again.  
„A left here.“  
„How much longer?“  
„Not much.“  
Jesse took the left and a surveillance camera blinked merrily at the corner. A huge gate covered the street half-way down.  
„Golly gee.“ He laughed breathlessly and slowed down. Shimada shifted behind him and held on with only one hand.  
Jesse stopped in front of the gate and watched the winding veins of metal closely. It looked new and expensive.  
„Wait.“

Shimada slid down from the bike and walked up to a screen and keypad by the gate. Jesse couldn‘t see what he was doing, but the gate swung inward after a few moments, a muted beep filling the narrow street.  
Jesse shifted his hands on the handles of he bike and adjusted his jacket over his back.  
Peacekeeper was a solid shape against the small of it and he felt a bit more at ease.  
This was the biggest act of treason in his life.  
Shimada slipped back on the bike behind him, arms a tight wrap around his waist.  
„Drive, McCree.“  
„Sure thing.“ His voice was dry and the cigarillo in the corner of his mouth had lost flame a few turns back.  
The street behind the gate was deserted. The houses left and right looked well-kept but somehow eerie.  
Jesse chewed on his cigarillo and Shimada sat rigid behind him. They were heading straight for the house at the end of the street.  
A huge, white manor with a big balcony out front. Jesse was half-sure he saw movement in the windows behind it.  
Shimada made him stop the bike by the side of the road and Jesse unstrapped the bags. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and handed Shimada the dufflebag.  
The zipper was half open, allowing easy access to the loaded gun nestled into the folds of Shimada‘s fine coat.  
„This yer place?“  
„Yes.“  
Jesse whistled low between his teeth and rubbed at the rim of his bobble hat. „Well then, Shimada-san. Lead the way.“  
Shimada looked at him with an unreadable expression. „You stay quiet.“  
Then he turned towards the manor and walked up the few stairs with powerful steps.  
Jesse followed him and wished for his hat and spurs.  
It felt bad to walk into the lair of another organisation (foreign organisation too) in clothes that weren‘t Jesse McCree.  
It was a small comfort that Shimada was dressed completely civilian as well.  
The dark front door opened without Shimada making a move to further indicate his presence.

A man bowed deeply and greeted him in Japanese. Shimada answered likewise and walked past the still bent man.  
Jesse loitered on the top step and looked at Shimada. Their eyes met and Jesse could basically see the decisions fall into place in them.  
He stepped over the threshold before Shimada had nodded him in. The man by the door bristled and Jesse felt volatile intent burn bright on the bent neck.  
He wanted his hat to tip it mockingly at the man. Or make a offhand comment.  
But Shimada had asked him to be quiet, and it was probably for the best if his big mouth stayed shut a tad longer.  
He was standing on enemy territory and he was way out of familiar waters and the only beacon he had was the rigid line of Shimada‘s shoulders under the borrowed serape.  
„We will speak English. My guest knows no Japanese.“  
„Of course, young Lord.“  
Jesse felt his eyebrows lift of their own accord. Lord, he had said.  
„We were worried, when you called so very late, after the meeting. And even more so after your call.“  
Jesse had no idea who the mysterious ‘We‘ was supposed to be and he had a feeling he wouldn‘t like them either way. He wanted to light his cigarillo again and give the cold feeling of the entry hall a tad of warmth.  
Japanese wall scrolls were tastefully arranged over tiny tables and floor vases, giving the whole place a somewhat forced feeling.  
American style and the gentle elegance of Japan didn‘t mix that well, apparently.  
Jesse fingered his lighter out of his pocket and flicked the flame on. Shimada looked at him and nodded.  
The man across from them tried to mask a frown, as the flame licked over the end of the cigarillo, and failed.  
Shimada moved towards the stairs. „We will talk later. My guest will have the crocus room, be sure to tell the staff.“ He pulled the beanie off and shook his hair out with one hand.

Jesse blew smoke at the low ceiling and smiled a broad smile at the man. The tight fists at his side and the respectful bow couldn‘t hide the shaking of his shoulders.  
„Come.“ Shimada‘s voice sounded different. More haughty, elegant and at the same time as graceful as ice.  
„Comin‘, Shimada-san.“ Jesse was proud of himself for not using one of the usual endearments and followed Shimada up the stairs with long strides.  
He missed the jingle of his spurs and substituted for it with whistling.  
Shimada‘s shoulders dropped a notch and he pushed his hair behind his ear, glancing at Jesse with a low grin simmering in his eyes.  
Jesse blew smoke at him and grinned back, mouth wide around it.  
The hallway at the top of the stairs had a thick blue carpet running the length of it. Slim stripes of silver lay directly next to the polished wood of the floor below.  
All the doors were closed, none labeled, and made from the same dark wood as the front door.  
Jesse followed Shimada down the hallway. His ears strained to pick up any weird noises, but there were just some low voices trailing out of a few rooms. Nothing weird, as far as he could tell.  
At the end of the hallway another flight of stairs stretched into the next floor.  
They stopped three doors down from it and Shimada inclined his head at the dark door.  
„You will have this room, McCree.“  
A door at the start of the hallway opened and Jesse shifted, shielding Shimada from being seen.  
„Sure, where‘s yours, darlin‘?“ He grinned down at Shimada and was met with an exasperated stare that basically screamed „I know what you‘re trying to do. Stop it.“  
Jesse leaned in and turned the door knob slowly. Shimada stood still as a tree.  
Feet against the carpet. Shimada‘s eyes flitted over Jesse‘s shoulder and stuck to whomever was walking down the hallway.  
Jesse pushed the door open and turned over his shoulder. His right hand lay on his hip, ready to slip into the small of his back and draw.  
Shooting from the hip was his specialty after all.  
Light from the window inside the room spilled into the hallway and painted the silver streaks in Shimada‘s hair a liquid shine.  
A japanese word rang through the hallway and Shimada stepped around him.

 

„Brother!“  
„Genji.“ Hanzo stepped around McCree‘s shoulder, letting the cloak brush against his arm.  
Genji hugged him quick and tight, before stepping back again. Hanzo smiled at his brother with tight eyes.  
„I thought you‘d finally taken the damn vacation you deserve.“ Genji laughed and there was something behind it Hanzo couldn‘t place.  
„No, not quite. My phone died.“  
„No charger?“  
„It broke, Genji.“ He looked at his younger brother closely. Something was definitely off. The whole house felt off.  
It had never truly felt like home, but this coldness was unprecedented.  
McCree smoked right by the doorway. Hanzo felt his eyes on his back. Suddenly he felt stupid in the cloak and the atrocious clothes he was wearing.  
„Genji, let us talk later. I need to re-dress and make some phonecalls.“  
His eyes were hard and Genji nodded softly. „Come and talk to me, as soon as you can.“  
And with that his little brother walked back the way he had come. Hanzo couldn‘t shake the feeling of wrongness.  
„Who was he?“  
„My brother.“ Hanzo turned on the heel and pointed at the door. „Get in, re-dress, meet me here in ten minutes.“  
„Sure, Boss.“ It was purposefully drawled out and McCree tipped a nonexistent hat before closing the door between them.

Hanzo sighed and rubbed the tension out of his brows. Then he ran up the stairs soundlessly and slipped into his small room.  
The dufflebag went by the low bed, the cloak atop the bed and the hideous clothes a pile by the window.  
Hanzo opened his closet and pulled a pair of suit pants and a shirt on. The blue haori with the family-mon on the back over it.  
He brushed his hair and washed his face in his small bathroom and gathered the long strands in a tight bun. His beard needed trimming, desperately, but there was no time.  
Maybe tonight.  
When he was done, there were still a few minutes left, until he would meet up with McCree again.  
Hanzo kneeled down by his katana under the window and closed his eyes for a moment or two. Calm washed over him and an ease lifted his shoulders.  
This would solve itself and he would be able to carve a bloody crest of winding dragons into the men who had wanted to cross him.  
Who had tried so hard and failed harder.  
Hanzo rose and left his room.  
The dragon was woke.

 

Jesse kicked the door shut and tossed his backpack at the bed. A soft yellow was the predominant colour in the room.  
A japanese drawing hang by the bed, small golden crocusses in stark detail. There was a narrow door and he opened it cautiously. A tiny bathroom revealed itself, yellow towels on the sink.  
Jesse chuckled and left a streak of clothing in the room.  
Sooner than should be possible he was in his favourite clothes, only missing his serape. But he was inside and it was pleasantly warm, so he was fine without it.  
He ran a finger along the rim of his hat and tapped the ash of his cigarillo into a vase on the window sill.  
So. Shimada had a brother.  
There had been tension in the hallway, there had been tension in the entry hall.  
There was tension like a second layer of plaster over the whole house. It felt a bit like a haunted house from one of those movies.  
Jesse tapped ash into the vase again.  
There was a seventy-percent-chance of whomever had initiated the attack on Hanzo Shimada being in this very house. Roughly.  
Which meant this was even less safe than the retreat in Santa Fe had been. This was the spider‘s net. And they had flown right in.  
„Shit, we needa talk.“ He rubbed a hand over his face and walked to the door, spurs jingling faint with every step.  
Jesse really hoped that Hanzo had some semblance of a plan, because he was lost in this. He had no idea how yakuza-clans worked and who was the real boss around here.  
And there was probably no way of solving this with blazing guns and a smart one-liner drawled through a grin.  
„What a hot mess, McCree, what a hot mess.“  
He opened the door to wait in the hallway and looked down the barrel of a gun.

The woman holding it was at least half a foot smaller than Jesse. Maybe more. She was familiar.  
„Well, howdy, Ma‘am.“ He grinned and exhaled a soft fume of smoke.  
The woman swallowed and Jesse knew then and there that he could do this. That he could intimidate and fool his way through a swath of yakuza simply by being cheeky and tall.  
His left hand, rested on his hip, shifted slightly and she swerved her gun down and shot him right through the wrist.  
A door slammed upstairs and the soft patter of socked feet on wooden floor ended with a thump at the end of the stairs.  
Shimada was holding a sword, for fuck‘s sake.  
Jesse laughed.

 

Hanzo was crouched low at the end of the stairs, katana at the ready.  
The woman from the diner. Yoko.  
Her gun was smoking softly and a telltale shell lay at her feet. McCree leaned against the side of the door and grinned, stupid cigarillo smoking like the barrel of the gun.  
He didn‘t look hurt, even though Yoko was normally a good shot.  
„What is this?“ Hanzo spoke English.  
Yoko straightened, but kept her gun loosely trained on McCree. Who looked very much at ease.  
„Young Lord, I was ordered to restrain the American. If need be to use force. He reached for his weapon and I prevented it.“ She spoke Japanese. Her face was pale with red blotches on her cheeks.  
Hanzo rose and slowly walked towards her. His katana was pointed at the carpet and his shoulders were squared under the haori.  
Yoko‘s eyes flitted to the carpet and her gun dropped slowly, until it shared the direction of her gaze. She bowed deep.  
„Step away.“ English.  
„My apologies.“ Japanese. But she did as told.

Hanzo looked up at McCree, who tipped his hat this time.  
„Howdy. Ya look real fancy like that.“ His brown eyes were glued to the two undone buttons at Hanzo‘s throat.  
„Are you hurt.“ Not a question. There was no blood on the floor, no pain visible in the casual lean of McCree‘s long body.  
„Nah. Just lost my wrist. Real shame. Ain‘t gonna be any use drivin‘.“ He lifted his left arm. The prosthetic was shot clean through at the wrist. Nothing deadly, but sure to make anyone stop reaching for a gun.  
„Did you reach for your gun.“ Not a question either. McCree always shot with his right hand.  
„Darlin‘, do I look like a man who‘d shoot a nice lady on his doorstep?“  
Hanzo raised a brow.  
„Nah, Shimada. I didn‘t reach for my gun. Otherwise she‘d not be standin‘ere right now.“ Jesse jerked his chin at Yoko and smiled cruelly. She paled even further.  
Hanzo scoffed and sheathed his katana. Looked at McCree and a moment passed.  
Their eyes met and Hanzo felt the need to crowd McCree into the crocus room and talk this through with him.

There was no time for that.  
There was no time for anything, not with the need for revenge burning low and deep in his blood and the shame of running away to New York still thick on his pride.  
„Come with me.“ Hanzo meant both, McCree and Yoko.  
McCree followed first, soles soft on the carpet and spurs jingling with every step. Hanzo had to press his lips tightly together to ward off a smile.  
The Elders present would hate it that McCree was wearing his boots.  
Hanzo found he didn‘t mind that much.

 

It was a barren meeting room on the ground floor. There were weird rectangular mats on the floor and only a long low table in the room.  
A huge painting of two circling dragons hung at the front end of the room, two flaming braziers left and right, throwing shadows against the wooden walls.  
The door was a sliding door with small paper-squares between dark wood.  
Even the pillows left and right of the table were dark.  
Shimada walked into the room as if he owned it and well. He probably did. Jesse followed him, lighting a fresh cigarillo under the brim of his hat.  
They walked all along the table and the few people that were already gathered in the room followed them with their eyes.  
Shimada made no sound while walking. Only his japanese cloak rustled softly over his suit pants and shirt.  
Jesse was loud in comparison. His spurs jingled, his boots creaked on the floor, Peacekeeper thumped softly against his chaps in her holster and the ammunition strapped to his belt clinked gently.  
And his broken prosthetic creaked at the joint.  
Shimada sat down on the pillow directly in front of the circling dragons. He pointed at a pillow to the right and behind him with the hilt of his sword.  
Jesse sat down on it cross-legged. No way he would kneel on his own legs for however long this here would take.  
He wasn‘t crazy.

Shimada put his sword next to his pillow and gathered his hands on his thighs. Then he stared straight ahead at the open doors and waited.  
Jesse smoked and tapped the ash into his left hand. It lay awkwardly on his thigh and he had no means of controlling it anymore. It was completely limp.  
The woman had shot well. And he couldn‘t even be mad at a good shot like that.  
Slowly more people filed in through the door.  
Shimada‘s brother too. The tips of his dark hair were green and Jesse had to grin. So this was the family rebel after all.  
He took a seat close to his brother and looked at the table with concentration plain on his face.  
There was a family resemblance in the high cheekbones and the full curve of the lips. But where the elder Shimada had frown lines etched into his skin, the younger Shimada had the glow of near constant smiling in his cheeks.  
Only three pillows remained unoccupied and everyone was quieting down.  
Jesse softly exhaled smoke and stilled. Sounds in the hallway. Shadows on the paper-doors.  
Then three old men walked into the room and everyone bowed.  
Everyone.  
Even Hanzo Shimada.  
All heads bent, but one.  
Jesse McCree stared at three Elders of the Shimadas and knew that this was serious shit.  
„Oh, fuck me.“  
And that, that had been out loud. Ooops.

 

Hanzo bowed the required amount in face of the Elders present and not a sliver of an inch more.  
And then he heard it. The strong rumble that carried, even in thick traffic.  
„Oh, fuck me.“  
He closed his eyes, frown stealing his face in lightning speed. A headache was rolling in and suddenly Hanzo wished himself back to Sante Fe and McCree‘s disorderly retreat.  
Ice-cold silence stretched through the room.  
„Welcome. Take your seats, Elders.“ Hanzo spoke, as his role befitted him to, and managed to crack the spell.  
The Elders moved nimbly for their age and took their seats with the dignity of head-strong cats. They didn‘t spare a glance for McCree and Hanzo felt an inkling of hate slide into his heart, alongside with the fearful respect he had for the power of these men.  
Tea was brought in and everyone took a sip. McCree hadn‘t gotten a cup of tea and Hanzo felt his hatred thicken.  
It was disrespectful.

So he held up his hand before the servants could retreat into the shadows again.  
„Will my guest not be served?“ His voice was ice and thunder.  
The Elders got very still and a female servant, very young, bowed deep, her forehead on the tatami.  
„Forgive us, young Lord, we did not know.“  
Hanzo gave a jerk with his wrist and she gracefully hurried to get another cup of tea for McCree.  
She presented it to him with the same honour she would bestow on Genji.  
McCree chuckled low, the rumble Hanzo knew so well, and pushed his hat back on his head.  
„Aww, mighty fine o‘ ya.“ Hanzo heard the wide shape of McCree‘s smile in the words and fought the urge to turn around successfully.  
The servant-girl bowed again and slithered into the shadows. McCree took a sip of his tea and gently set the cup down on the tatami.  
Hanzo put one hand on the table, next to his own steaming cup.

„I am back.“ He spoke English, forcing the others to do so as well.  
Deep bows around the table and murmurs of „Welcome back, young Lord.“  
Genji winked at him and Hanzo looked at him, soft exasperation in his eyes. Genji only grinned broader.  
One of the divisional commanders raised his hand, asking permission to speak. Hanzo granted it.  
„What happened in Santa Fe, that you only returned home now, young Lord?“  
A few of the others nodded, as if they had wanted to ask the same thing. Hanzo heard McCree move in his back.  
„Treason happened in Santa Fe.“  
Silence, heavy like iron.

„The Deadlock Gang, having asked to present us with their weapons‘ stock, killed Mizusuke and Taketo, before trying to kill me too.“  
Sharp whispers, like blades, then silence again. Genji fisted his hands under the table and McCree exhaled with a slow whistle.  
He had noticed something. Hanzo wanted to ask what it was and couldn‘t. He felt the eyes at the back of his neck like needles.  
„So? What do you want to do now, Hanzo-san?“  
Hanzo bristled and zeroed in on Shimada Kenta. His father‘s cousin.  
Who was leaned on the table, bald head polished to a shine, ugly dragons rearing over his ears. His face looked like a No-mask, portraying distaste in a comical sneer.  
„After fleeing their terrible clutches and back into the family‘s safe lap, what do you want us to do? Hold your hand? When you can‘t sleep at night, because they killed two men and shot at you?“  
There were looks of disdain around the table and some concealed nods.  
McCree yawned behind Hanzo and it felt like having a tiger yawn at his side. An empowering show of brute strength, shown through complete ignorance.  
Hanzo scoffed, eyes cold.  
„I want you to take down the Deadlock Gang and let them know that a dragon will not be crossed without paying the price. Every last sliver of their existence will be erased in the wake of my fury and you all will do this with me. We will take their place along the winding streets of America.“  
Genji looked at the table with tight eyes and the Elders shifted. Hanzo looked at them.  
The room was quiet. Even McCree made no sound.

„Elders, share your thoughts.“  
A moment of breathless waiting.  
„You talk of revenge.“  
„I talk of justice.“  
„Personal vendetta.“  
„Righting the slight against the honour of the Shimada!“  
„Your own slighted pride is the core of this.“  
Hanzo opened his mouth to say something and was interrupted by a short bark of laughter.  
All heads turned to McCree. Who blinked sheepishly.  
„Ah, sorry. Didn‘t mean fer that t‘ be quite so loud. Jus‘ go on, don‘t even mind me. Jus‘ enjoying the show. Yer all real good.“  
He grinned and leaned back a bit, sipped tea and had the daring to wink at Hanzo.  
Now all eyes were stuck to Hanzo, waiting for him to reprimand his guest.  
Hanzo wanted to close his eyes and sigh, loud and long. Instead he fixed a cold stare on McCree.  
„Do not interrupt us again, McCree. You will be asked for your opinion, should it become necessary.“  
„Sorry, Shimada-san.“ An empty grin and he rolled his left shoulder. The limp hand in his lap shifted. Hanzo felt a trickle of sweat slide down his neck and slip below his collar.  
He turned back to face the Elders. More composed than before.  
„The core of my order, is to show the American barbarians the might of the Shimada, so they will never again think they can meet us with the same crude violence they use with each other. We will show them the dragons.“  
Hanzo did not know when he had risen, but he was standing when he finished and there was awe in the room, right alongside the shielded hatred of the envious.  
The Elders looked at each other, their wrinkled faces blank.  
„You have power over these men, Hanzo, and it is your way of using this power. It is our duty to ensure safety for the Shimada and what your ancestors have worked for over centuries.“  
„We will permit this for now.“  
„But if you come to harm the Shimada with your feud, know that we will act accordingly.“  
„That is all, Shimada Hanzo.“  
The three old men rose as one and left the room on silent feet.

Hanzo was still standing and his heart was fluttering in his throat.  
This time the silence was suffocating.  
He found his voice after a deep breath and with the help of warm eyes on his back.  
„We will adjourn this meeting until further notice.“  
With the bustle and rustle of people needing to talk about what had just happened the room emptied.  
Hanzo was left standing with McCree behind him, Genji at the table and Kenta standing in the door.  
His grey eyes were cold blades against Hanzo‘s skin and he heard McCree stand behind him.  
„We will see, Hanzo-san, how this works out for you.“ Japanese.  
„Be sure to give my regards to father.“  
Kenta left the room with a scoff and Genji looked up at Hanzo. Hanzo closed his eyes and sighed, long.  
„Brother?“ Genji spoke Japanese as well.  
„Genji.“  
„Are you sure of this?“  
Hanzo gave his brother a cold stare, fury thinly sheened by ice. „Yes.“ More a hiss then a word.  
Genji stood, hands held up. „Then I‘m with you, as always.“ A lopsided grin and he bounced out of the room.  
McCree whistled lowly behind Hanzo and the paper doors slid closed.  
They were alone.

 

Jesse rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand and looked at Shimada with raised brows.  
„Quite the family, eh?“  
Shimada laughed, short and bitter. Still beautiful „That was nothing. The meetings in Hanamura took at least twice as long and it was often, that the tatami needed replacement afterwards.“  
McCree made a confused noise and Shimada smiled at him. A true smile. It made Jesse‘s heart stop for a bit.  
„You cannot get blood out of them.“  
A breathless snort and a shake of a head. Then their eyes met.  
„We need t‘ talk. In private.“  
„Yes.“  
Jesse made a step towards Shimada and his spurs jingled softly. The harsh light from the braziers painted stark shadows on Shimada‘s noble face.  
Hid Jesse‘s face under his hat in orange-tinted darkness.  
They stood close to each other, Shimada‘s head tilted up, Jesse‘s down.  
„This is no good place.“  
„No, really?“  
„Yes.“  
Jesse laughed. „No, darlin‘, I know. Was jus‘ bein‘ sarcastic.“  
Shimada threw him a death glare. „It is hardly the time to jest, McCree.“  
Jesse wondered what had happened to using first names and knew without having to think really. The Shimadas had happened.  
And God, that sounded like a sitcom.  
„Well, sorry.“ He grinned, flashing his teeth. Sucked on his cigarillo and watched the tip flare bright. „Where would be a good place, then? I‘m gettin‘ all hot an‘ bothered ‘ere.“  
„Do you require medical attention?“  
„Don‘t play dumb, Hanzo. Ain‘t cute.“  
Shimada scoffed, almost a laugh, and walked towards the wall. A panel in the wall was easily slid to the side and Jesse followed him, a whistle on his lips.  
It was a bit like the chase from the hotel.  
Only with subtle danger at their heels, no gunshots and shouts.

Shimada opened another door at the end of the walk and they stepped into a big kitchen.  
It was deserted but for an old woman standing at the sink, washing the dishes with efficient movements.  
Shimada said something in Japanese and the tiny woman smiled at him warmly. Jesse felt his heart break a bit at the sweetness of it.  
„Come, sit down.“ Her English was heavily accented.  
„Thank you kindly, Ma‘am.“ Jesse took his hat off and sat down at the small table in the corner. It had chairs, God bless.  
Shimada sat down across from him and sighed again.  
Jesse stretched his legs out and bumped ankles with him. Hard to believe they had done it just this noon, over waffles and hot drinks.  
Felt like a life-time away.  
To say nothing of the shared breakfasts in Santa Fe.

Jesse sighed and tapped ash into a used mug on the table.  
„Someone from yer fam wants ya dead. Dearly so. I‘m pretty sure‘f it, bu‘ I‘m unsure who‘s behind it.“ He shrugged and leaned back in the chair.  
Shimada sat very straight.  
„Could be two or three, maybe more, maybe jus‘ one man, workin‘ alone. But the possibility of some goonies, ready to shoot ya in the back at moment‘s notice ain‘t somethin‘ to keep outta our minds.“  
Shimada blinked slowly. And damn, he had long lashes.  
„What makes you think that?“  
„The way tension‘s a second ceiling hammered into erry damn room here!“ Jesse spread his arms and his left hand fell off with a clank.  
„Aww, shit, man!“ His right was rough in his beard. „The way yer people - yer own people, Hanzo!- shoot yer guests from close range an‘ the way only yer brother seems t‘ be genuinely happy to have ya back!“  
A pause. Jesse exhaled and Shimada‘s shoulders trembled faintly.  
Jesse felt the same telltale tremble wreck his spine.  
„An‘ I know hatred when I see it. An‘ that guy with the egg head, he hates ya guts.“


End file.
